I feel soft wind, tickling my face,
as if your finger's tender touch runs through my skin,
relieving fears and worries
and thoughts, troubled much.
I leave them all there,
where i fell,
in the dungeons of despair.
Tell me not of tomorrow,
not of labour.
Better talk over yeaterday's trifle,
even there is no time to spare.
Can we not live for the others,
not follow dead men's trail?
Live and die for simple things,
for the dawn, and night
and trivial dreams?

I've trashed the years
and never blinked,
nor cried a tear
for a lost chance.
It flowed,
the swelling rivers of honey and milk,
‎at my feet,
which i never counted or held dear.
So what,
‎for my shabby soul,
‎i lived and died here.

You say, i could ask for a little help,
at least kneel down in a silence, for prayer
or implore to wisdom of common sense,
embracing defeat,
succumb and concede.
So what,
i dont feel sorry for what i did.

I am trying to be humble,
though unconcscious of what that means,
palping the boundaries of dreams,
scratching old wounds,
that heal and redeem
with every probable sin.

Don't expect me with dazzling
success,
throwing treasures at your feet.
No words of comfort i can offer
under the glimmering stars,
brightly lit.
A mere sorrow.
Only defeat.

You can throw a few lies to trick my mind,
pretending to value its eccentricity,
while you don't give a ****.
So what,
i am a regular guy.
You might still pity me,
but never love.

My view is constricted by experience,
of which, i supposedly have none.
I am challenged by every senior of every rank
for words i've said and things i've done.
But lo and behold,
this very world,
there is something to be told.
I've never touched the cupola of heaven,
but i've seen the face of God
in every tree and every flesh,
across the seas and hot dry lands
i've found the reason and the source of change,
that breaks the shells and sifts through air
with pure wisdom and gentle care,  
spreading traits of life,
that got us here.

day holds me in cage,
night sets me free
from the burden of identity,
the necessity to be me.

I burnt in the flames of passion,
then languished at the bottom of despair,
to loose the grip of reason
and lay my soul to bare.

His love for her was most pristine,
so he could never think of anything bad.
She was the most high moon for him.
Though distant,
he yearned for a little shine,
every lonely night.
But he knew deep inside,
that its only a wish.
She was quite a cruel
and rather selfish.
How could the moon, so sublime in nature,
care for a man, treading the earth.
Instead, she looked up to the sun,
glittering in gold.
Stared in awe,
intoxicated by its radiant light.
It was her dream,
one day,
one night,
for the sun, to be the lovely bride.
But the man kept faith
and the man endured,
to receive from the moon a kind
salute.
He wanted nothing in return,
only gentle smile,
be it truth or the lie,
could give everything,
even heart or the soul,
but the cold face of the moon
would never turn below.

let me find respite under your stealthy coat,
running from the dreariness of noon
and the troubles of the day,
to the mystery of stygian darkness,
the visit, i come to pay.